Chapter 97: A moment of Tenderness

"I found Nathaniel years ago."

Kiyan pulled a pack of cigarettes from the inner pocket of his jacket with the same quiet elegance he seemed to apply to every gesture.

Even this.

Even the simple act of taking out a cigarette carried something precise, controlled, almost aesthetic.

Blanche watched him from the corner of her eye without saying a word, seated beside him in the silent car.

Kiyan slipped a cigarette between his lips.

Then he lowered his head slightly.

His curls immediately caught the light.

Under certain angles, his hair appeared simply brown; under others, warmer shades emerged, almost coppery, as though embers slept somewhere within those dark strands. When he brought up the lighter, the flame briefly brushed the contours of his face, highlighting the sharp bridge of his nose, the line of his jaw, and the faint shadows beneath his lashes.

His hair glowed for an instant.

Like dark wood threaded with fire.

The metallic click of the lighter echoed softly inside the car before the flame flickered between his hands.

He inhaled slowly.

Deeply.

The cigarette flared to life in the near-darkness of the gray winter afternoon as he exhaled the smoke with almost absurd slowness, his gaze lost beyond the windshield.

Fixed on the façade of the club.

But Blanche immediately had the impression that he was looking far beyond it.

As if he had drifted away from her for a few seconds.

As if something about this place had awakened an old memory.

The silence stretched gently between them, accompanied only by the distant rumble of the city and the crackle of the cigarette.

Then Kiyan slowly brought a hand to his mouth, the cigarette held between his elegant fingers.

The scent of tobacco immediately mingled with his cologne.

Woody.

Warm.

Deep.

A combination already dangerous enough without adding the aura of a broken man from a forbidden novel.

Honestly, the universe hated her.

Blanche turned her gaze toward the window in an attempt to recover a shred of mental dignity.

Mistake.

Kiyan's reflection was almost worse.

Perfectly tailored dark suit.

Messy curls arranged just enough.

A calm, tired, devastatingly handsome profile.

She was going to end up six feet under.

Most likely right here.

In a parked car outside a club, murdered by a professor who smoked with far too much charisma.

Finally, without taking his eyes off the street, Kiyan spoke again.

"Nathaniel is a shapeshifter who works for one of Sebastian's right-hand men. But before he was bitten, he was, for a time, the host of a demon."

Blanche straightened up, intrigued.

"Higher demons cannot access Epsilon without a price," Kiyan continued. "They must be summoned through a human sacrifice. The human who serves as the sacrifice becomes the demon's temporary host until the summoner's request has been fulfilled. Nathaniel was that sacrifice."

"So... if I understand correctly, my father was possessed when he had me?"

Kiyan slowly shook his head before taking another drag.

"It's worse than that. Your father is the being that possessed Nathaniel's body."

Blanche froze, her mind racing.

Which meant...

"My father is a demon."

That explained an awful lot.

The magical power required to conceive her, for one.

The ease with which he had charmed her mother, for another.

And third—

"Yes," Kiyan confirmed, cutting off her spiraling thoughts.

She knew her journals from the future deliberately filtered information, but keeping quiet about the fact that her biological father was a demon?

She understood that some things had to be learned "in due time."

But honestly, she would have appreciated knowing this a little sooner.

"So I'm... half drakion, half demon? Not even counting—you know what... I'm a monster," she concluded, remembering what Kysten had said. "An abomination."

Kiyan immediately crushed his cigarette against the dashboard, then seized her hand and squeezed it firmly.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed with such vehemence that she jumped. "You are the most extraordinary being there is!"

He brushed away the tear rolling down the young woman's cheek.

His thumb grazed her skin with an almost unreal gentleness.

As though he were afraid of breaking her.

The movement was slow, instinctive, stripped of all his usual coldness. Blanche immediately felt her breath catch in her chest as the warmth of his hand erased the damp trail on her cheek.

And somehow, that simple touch hurt even more.

Because it was tender.

Genuinely tender.

Kiyan remained silent for several seconds, his gaze fixed on her with an expression she had never seen on him before.

Helpless.

Completely helpless.

And the worst part was that it suited him strangely well.

The man who was always in control suddenly seemed more human, more approachable, briefly freed from the distant elegance he wore like permanent armor. His usually composed features had softened slightly; something worried finally flickered in his dark eyes.

As though he no longer knew what to do.

As though he hated seeing her cry.

Blanche felt her heart tighten stupidly at the thought.

Of course.

He had to be beautiful even when losing his composure.

Wonderful.

Kiyan barely hesitated before leaning closer.

The movement was slow.

Careful.

As though he were still giving her the chance to pull away.

Then he pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

Not a passionate gesture.

Not a provocation.

Something even more intimate.

More dangerous.

His lips lingered against her skin for a second, warm and impossibly soft, and Blanche immediately felt a shiver travel from the back of her neck down into her stomach.

The world seemed to freeze around them.

The noise of the city.

The lights.

The cold.

Everything vanished behind that simple touch.

She could smell his cologne from far too close now. That woody, dark scent that already prevented her from thinking properly under normal circumstances became downright criminal at this distance.

And he...

He stayed there.

Very close.

Close enough for her to feel his breath.

Close enough for her heart to seriously forget any notion of a coherent rhythm.

Blanche lowered her eyes slightly, unable to hold his gaze any longer without risking complete emotional implosion.

Wonderful.

She was doomed.